


Suck on That One Tonight

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Porn With Plot, adult film industry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 01:37:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11325960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Arthur is an adult film actor who's somehow ended up with an oaf for a shoot partner. Alfred isn't the best ally for a bottom like Arthur in a masculine dominated industry, but maybe he could become one. Along the way, Arthur looks for dignity and love in his work.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> other warnings: wildly inaccurate details about the adult film industry, untimely flatulence, and story goes from funny to not to kinda cute so if you were here for the laughs don't read the next chapter lmao

The problem wasn’t that the provided hot water was more lukewarm, or that they had only set out sugar substitutes instead of real sugar, or even that the tea bags were some cheap, generic brand. It was a waiting room hospitality lay out. He wasn’t expecting much.

The problem was that it was an _adult film studio_ waiting room, and the hands that had carelessly grabbed two cups instead of one and put the other back or had fumbled with a few wooden stirrers until it had grabbed one were hands that were the bane of that one wise pithy - “you don’t know where their hands have been.” He was one of these filthy hands, and he didn’t put it past his own kind to only wash their hands when the mess was visible.

Then again, there weren’t many things that had stayed off Arthur’s “Yet-To-Be-Ingested” list, so what the hell.

He filled a styrofoam cup with lukewarm water, dipped in a tea bag, and poured in a packet of splenda, bypassing the wooden stirrers altogether, and cupped the vessel in his hands to warm them as he turned to return to his seat. But of course, someone _had_ to be walking up at the same time and they almost met in a terrible collision with the cup of brown tea between them as their impact point.

“Oh shit.” The other body took a stumbling step back as Arthur jerked to a stop and the liquid in his cup churned dangerously and spilt over his hand. The man cursed again and reached past Arthur for the table behind him and grabbed an unnecessary amount of napkins. He pressed them sloppily over Arthur’s wrist and hand, keeping Arthur’s arm in place as he dabbed away the tea (and Arthur’s mind unhelpfully supplied “where have his hands been” instead of something productive like “stop standing like an oaf and clean yourself up”).

The man flashed him a sheepish smile as the peeled the wet napkins away and tossed them onto the table. He swiped over Arthur’s hand once more with the napkins, making sure it was dry, before letting go of Arthur entirely. “Sorry, man.”

Arthur could have been angry, but he had no energy mustered for an attack and the lukewarm water over his skin was hardly enough to stir any kind of reaction. This was why he needed tea in the first place - he was yet to be awake enough to be his typical prickly self.

“Quite alright,” he said before he breezed by the man and back to his seat, where he cradled his tea and sipped at it quietly, waiting for his mockery of an interview.

He would probably make out to be a pretty good professional - he knew how to dress like one, how to act like one, and how to sprout snobbery like one. But instead of pursuing something he could proudly tell his mother, he was auditioning for porn. No wonder the woman hardly spoke to him anymore.

The tight shirt and the skinny jeans weren’t any more comfortable than a suit in all honesty, but at least he didn’t have to use logarithms in porn, he thought rather contentedly.

The man he’d bumped into took the seat right next to him when he’d returned with a cup of what smelt and looked like weak coffee. Arthur glanced around, but he already knew there were plenty of seats open considering there was only one other person in the room, sitting in the opposite corner and unabashedly reading his Maxim magazine.

He glanced shortly at the man, who was really more a boy up close, just to raise a silent brow at him. But the other caught his eye and offered the hand that wasn’t holding the coffee out for Arthur, beaming. “Alfred,” he said in response to the question that wasn’t in Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur studied the boy, Alfred - tan, tall, and blue-eyed blond in the way that made him more appropriate in Hollywood than adult film. His tea must have been too weak, because he didn’t feel annoyed yet and almost mirrored the smile thrown his way. Alfred was almost charming.

And he made a mental note never to leave the house again without a good, strong cup of tea to put him in the correct cynical mood.

He glanced down at the offered hand reflexively, but didn’t see any suspicious dirt or shiny, dried fluids on them. Then again, he’d already come to the conclusion that his hands weren’t likely any cleaner.

With a polite smile, he slipped his hand into Alfred’s in a quick, firm handshake (cor _blimey_ \- that grip would be brilliant in a handjob).

“Arthur.”

* * *

“ _Arthur..._ ”

He groaned in equal parts of “oh yes, love, that’s _good_ -the camera is getting this, right?” and “oh bollocks Alfred, I swear on your mother’s grave if you make me redo this scene again because of your loose mouth”. He meant more of the latter, but honestly? He was doing porn - a moan was a moan.

“Stop, stop, stop! This just isn’t working.”

Arthur slammed his palm down on the table he was being fucked on and nearly _screamed_ a groan just in case he left any doubt as to how frustrated he was. Alfred, the sweet, stupid boy, pulled out of him with a whimper and went to throw some cold water on his cock. Despite the fact that it was entirely his own fault, he admired him for his endurance.

“Cock it, Francis! You couldn’t even hear that!” And Arthur had made sure of it too. That moan hadn't been just for show.

Francis crossed his arms over his chest, a rolled up script in one hand - _as if_ they were really following it. “Heard what? I was referring to you - you were making these faces! The cameraman was losing his erection, you know.”

Alfred reappeared on the haphazard set looking thoroughly haggard, and as much as Arthur wanted to rip off his head for just _being_ there, he was too put out by how uncomfortable he looked. The poor idiot had been sporting that erection for the majority of the afternoon.

He plunged back into Arthur swiftly as Francis and the cameraman fluttered around them, trying to find an angle that didn’t “make Arthur look like a troll” and Arthur didn’t even bother to mention that Alfred hadn’t slathered on enough lube.

“Alright, let’s try this again.” Francis gave an almighty sigh and stepped off the staged area as the cameraman closed up right into their faces.

Alfred slammed into Arthur so abruptly that his cry was genuine. “How badly do you want this promotion, little whore?” Alfred was probably smirking at the back of his head, but all in all Arthur wasn’t too convinced - Alfred was always too exuberant and too horny to be good at acting. Arthur inwardly gave him an indulgent pat on the head for trying.

“ _So bad_ , sir!” Arthur whined, drawing heavily on the garbled cockney accent that everyone expected him to have.

Alfred had clearly gone off again - his thrusting wasn’t bruising and unforgiving like it had been, and he hadn’t picked up on Arthur’s cue. He was grunting out little puffs of air by Arthur’s ear, and where the camera couldn’t see it Alfred’s thumb was lightly stroking his ribs.

“Mmph, kay,” he muttered brainlessly and at that point Francis cut the scene again with a frustrated whimper because Arthur had rolled his eyes and given up. He knew Alfred wasn’t going to be acting anymore this afternoon.

Francis stormed away with the cameraman, yelling in French and hitting things with his little rolled up script. Arthur could hear the slap of hollow paper against things over the heavy breathing in his ear. Alfred clearly didn’t care that the scene was over and was just trying to find a day’s long release. He whined pitifully and Arthur reached over to pat his hand nicely. “It’s alright, love,” he sighed diplomatically and continued to reassure his poor, stupid fool.

* * *

Despite Francis’s overwhelming patience, everyone had their limits. He told Arthur, over the phone and only half in English, that he and Alfred should take a few months break to “rediscover their muse” before coming back to his studio. He also began suggesting that Arthur go see a doctor for the hideous, perhaps malignant, growth of his eyebrows, but Arthur had hung up long before he got to his punchline.

Of course, as poor college students with active social lives, Arthur and Alfred couldn’t afford to be out of a job for a few months. They could have done something normal and safe like wait tables at a cafe or go the popular route and sign up for some medical trials, but what it came down to was that they didn’t and went searching for jobs in porn again.

One wise man once said that humans were creatures of habit. Arthur didn’t prove him wrong.

Arthur wasn’t very selective either. He took the first offer he found - some studio that did “real hardcore shit” - and signed up Alfred for it too because Alfred wasn’t going to say no. He talked to the manager over the phone, who told him he’d have to be okay with “hardcore facefucking” and “hardcore roleplaying”. Arthur had replied, quite dryly, that he could _hard_ ly wait. The most pathetic part must have been that he actually got a laugh from that.

Arthur told Alfred to free his next Saturday, they had a job, and he took Alfred’s blind head bobbing to whatever music he had jammed into his ears as a confirmation. And even when Arthur woke Alfred up that day at noon and told him to haul his arse out of bed, Alfred pretended the entire drive there that he knew all along what they were doing. Working and living with an idiot certainly made life easier for Arthur at times.

The manager met them at the door to the studio and had them sign off the release of liability and health waivers and contracts and so on. Arthur skimmed the contract, catching the words “oral sex”, “consent”, and “roleplayed emotional abuse” among others, but didn’t feel concerned. He’d done quite a few odd things with a Japanese studio a while before, and if he could survive plastic, robotic tentacles shoved up his arse he could survive a little blowjob. He signed off and then pointed to where Alfred should sign, and then the papers were snatched up with a little leer by the manager.

The studio itself turned out to be nothing more than a couch and ottoman against a tacky green background. Frequents of the studio were lounging against walls out of the camera’s shot and watched him critically as they set him up on the couch with the camera zoomed up in his face. Those men, along with Alfred, would cycle through and have turns at him, they said dismissively before they turned on the camera.

“So, why don’t you start off by telling us your name?”

Arthur stared at the cameraman levelly, but didn’t get more than a knowing little smirk from him. “Sam Sable,” Arthur told the camera demurely.

The cameraman smiled a little wider. “Hey Sam, so are you excited for today?”

Granted that Arthur only knew the technicalities of what he was going to be doing, he shrugged innocently. “I guess so.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> serious content warnings: abuse in the adult film industry, dubious consent, mentions of past self harm, i promise there's a cute ending though!

Arthur had never known a studio to want him to _talk_ so much. The interview at the beginning must have at least taken ten minutes, and all it seemed to be was the cameraman making lewd allusions to the day’s events and leading him around in circles. Arthur was relieved when he finally started the real work and pulled his shirt over his head as he sunk down onto his knees.

One of the men by the wall strode forward with his cock bouncing in his hand. It was a gross looking thing that looked like it’s been broken at one point and then set incorrectly, but he figured that was why he didn’t get himself a job at a more reputable studio.

“C’mon Sammy boy, time to open up that pretty mouth,” he sang. Well no wonder he was so happy - he still got to shove his deformed cock down someone’s throat every day.

Arthur opened his mouth and held himself still as the cock was guided onto his tongue. By the man’s demand, he closed his lips over it and gripped it at the base as he bobbed his head over it slowly. Something tugged at the back of his head sharply and Arthur pulled away as his eyes drifted up.

“Keep your eyes on me, kay?” The man sneered down at him, and Arthur nodded in response. His hair was tugged on roughly again, and he added, “Yes, _sir_.”

He dropped his mouth back onto the cock and slid up gaze upward. The big beer belly between the man’s cock and his face didn’t allow Arthur to actually _see_ his face, but judging by the low “oh yeah”s and “there we go baby”s it didn’t matter. Arthur just continued on licking and nudging more down his throat, hoping not to give the man any reason to complain and fall back onto his noisy “dominant” character.

In a lot of ways, Arthur’s approach to adult film was much like some regular fellow’s approach to a menial office job. Duck your head and do exactly what you were supposed to - nothing more and nothing less. You’d never find yourself on the promotion list, but you got away doing the least you had to and without raising any problems. He didn’t have a lot of expectations, he was just surviving.

Without warning, the cock thrusted past the length he’d been working on and scraped the back of his throat. He threw his hands onto the great prat’s thigh to push himself away, but he was held into place with a hand at the back of his head, choking and gagging, until it grabbed his hair and dragged him away.

He gasped in air and swallowed the nausea that rose in his throat. Predictably, the other man stared at him with superior, beady eyes and spat in his face before demanding Sam, you whore, get back on my cock. Arthur was polite enough not to even roll his eyes as his mouth was slammed back onto his cock.

Arthur gagged and writhed again, his instincts more powerful than the habits he’d picked up, but the man slapped him across the face without even letting the cock fall out of Arthur’s mouth. Almost impressive. Arthur was a little more miffed this time as he was pushed back onto the cock, but he was naming off the kinks in his head he’d signed to and knew there weren’t any surprises. The contract said he’d consented to this, he resolved.

“That’s right, you dirty slut. Eat my cock.” The man grunted and threw both hands into his hair as he kept Arthur down. His eyes watered and his lungs shrank up from the air he wasn’t getting, but he knew how to keep himself together. When he let him breathe, Arthur just spat out the bile and mucus and other bodily fluids that shouldn’t see the light of day out onto the floor like a pro before setting on work on his cock again.

His throat was positively raw, and he knew now that he wasn’t going to be able to speak for a week after this. And despite that, they were _still_ making him talk. Bollocks, these people were chatty.

Arthur’s shoulders heaved violently, and he ripped his head away from where the man was pinching his nose and gripping his head in place. He coughed out the vomit that had pooled at the back of his throat and coughed the rest of the taste up.

“Hmm, what did you have for lunch, whore?” he was asked as he shifted himself away from the mess he’d left splattered on the floor. People got off to some odd things, he contemplated faintly as he wiped his mouth with his thumb.

“Just some tea,” he mumbled, hoping that would be the end of that disturbing conversation for him.

It was, and the man shoved himself back down Arthur’s throat and this time Arthur’s gag reflex seemed much less responsive. “Figures - you look anorexic as hell.”

Arthur closed his eyes so that he could roll them without being called out and briefly clenched his fists - well, his _utmost sincerest apologies_ that he was a college student living on a part-time porn star’s salary. He just couldn’t weigh twenty five stone like that fine piece of flesh himself.

“ _Yeah_ , that’s it you loose whore,” he hissed huskily. He was gagging Arthur so quickly that the impact of his cock on the back of his throat was making regular wet slapping sounds and pulling hair from the back of his head. “You love sucking cock, you love it so much you’re doing it to pay your stupid ass through college, aren’t you? Poor, fucking whore.”

The names were getting terribly repetitive. He shouldn’t have expected much wit from a man who bared his cock for a living, but then again that critique was also rather self indicting. Most people didn’t think there was much pride in letting a man shove his cock down your throat for the benefit of all the creeps behind their computer screens whose last sexual encounter had been when some sad sperm and egg had joined to create them.

“You should see yourself right now - you look like a dirty hooker with those tears all over your cheeks and your chin all wet.” He inhaled greedily as the man pulled away, and instead of having to steel himself for another attack on his throat the crown of his hair was grabbed and twisted to the side. “Do you see it?”

He was looking into the camera, but just to the side of it the display had been flipped his way by a grinning cameraman. He met his own eyes in the screen, and damn if he didn’t need a hankie or something. His eyes were red-rimmed and shining, as were his lips and the rest of his face. Thank God he was no longer on speaking terms with his mother, because if she ever saw him like this he’d be bringing back the nightmare which was raising a messy newborn.

Nobody told him to keep his eyes on the screen, but he did even as a cock was pressed up against his cheek and dragged into his mouth. It was a morbid fascination that kept him staring, but when he saw his own wince as it was thrusted down his throat, his eyes slide down and away.

“You saw it.” He heard a grunting chuckle above him. “The look in your eyes is someone who figured out what an embarrassing whore they are. Must be why you’re crying too, huh?”

He wasn’t crying, but the tears were sort of unavoidable with all the slamming down his throat. But it wasn’t going to do any good to fight that, even if he had the will to. Jesus, why was he doing this again? Why had this seemed like a good idea two years ago? It hadn’t, but it made sense - he liked sex, he had a nice face, and he didn’t have any particular desire to break the law. Adult film it was. It was just an acceptance of how things were.

The cock was pulled from his throat again, and Arthur focused himself down to his breathing, which was all he should have been worrying about. “Lay down on the couch, bitch.” And he did without looking into the man’s eyes. He stared at a space just above his nose to be inconspicuous about it as his wrists were pushed above his head.

“Oh, the whore has some secrets, doesn’t he?” There was a touch on his forearm, just before his inner elbow, and Arthur stung with mortification he didn’t often feel.

It was only once, right after his last call with his mother and when he’d been very alone in his dorm. He was homesick and poorer than he was now, and it was admittedly the last time he’d cried. It wasn’t a big deal, but he didn’t want to tell anyone he’d ever taken a razor to his own skin. He’d hated it anyway, and now it was just sort of a fading embarrassment on his skin.

“Shut up,” he said quietly and jerked his arms away. He forgot the rule he lived by, duck your head and don’t react, and as soon as he realized he did a hand came down on his cheek and snapped his head the other way with the force. Damn, that’d _hurt_.

“Don’t talk back to me, whore.” Spit landed on his cheek and he pursed his lips tightly. “Oh, did I strike a chord? Why are you crying, slut?”

Like hell if he thought he was going to get Arthur to cooperate with him. “You hit me kind of hard - I’m not _crying_ ,” he said shortly.

“Yeah, sure bitch.” The man got off him laughing, and thank God because his ribs were creaking from his sheer fat arse. “Who’s next? I’ve got him broken in for you.”

Arthur made sure to look up and say without words that he certainly _was not_ broken - he’d been through worse, and if they thought a little slap and some nasty words were going to get to him they had another thing coming - but it was Alfred he was looking at. The oaf had his gaudy headphones around his neck and his PSP in his hand, and Arthur knew that he hadn’t been paying attention at all. Especially given the shocked, taken aback look on his face.

“Wait, _what?_ ” Alfred’s mouth pulled down in disgust and his eyes slid over to Arthur, so Arthur just turned away with his lips pursed. “Fuck no, I didn’t sign up for that. Take your nasty shit somewhere else - I’m done.”

With the attention off of himself for a moment, Arthur quickly dragged his forearm over his face and wiped away the first layer of the slobber off of his face. He expected that to be the end of his partnership with Alfred - insert a weep here and a marker that reads “here lies a friendship that survived most bodily fluids, except the vom.”

Except, when Alfred said “I’m done” he actually meant “we’re done”, and pulled the sweatshirt off his back and onto Arthur and tossed Arthur into his arms like a sack of dildos.

“What in the Holy Spirit’s name do you think you’re _doing_?” Arthur hissed as Alfred stomped off the set like a hippo in heat. “We have a contract!”

“Well _this_ is what I think of this goddamn contract!” Which was the only warning he gave before he bent over and ripped what could only be considered the most vile fart known to man or dog, flipped off the crew, and stormed out an emergency exit.

What on God’s good Earth was happening?

“You know, you did leave my clothes in there,” Arthur settled on blandly after Alfred had heaved him out across the parking lot and let him down in the passenger seat of the car.

Alfred fished around in his backpack, which he’d somehow had the presence of mind to grab during his little show, and proudly waved a phone around. “But I got your phone!”

Arthur didn’t want to give Alfred a drop of satisfaction for his actions. He crossed his arms and stared out the passenger side window moodily just in case Alfred didn’t-and he wouldn’t-get the hint.

“Wait, what’s wrong? I got you out of there.”

Arthur snapped his head back at Alfred fast enough to give him whiplash, which he ignored to deliver his otherwise emphatic statement. “Yeah, and when did I ask you to do that?”

Alfred’s jaw dropped far enough for Arthur to fit his entire fist in his mouth, which was something he briefly considered doing. “Are you-are you _serious?_ They were fucking destroying you.”

“Are _you_ serious? I knew what I was getting into with them.” He didn’t. “When did I ever consent to you throwing me into your arms like the baby Jesus Christ and storming out of the room?”

Yeah, he went there - he threw down the “c” word that no one in adult film was allowed to violate.

The look on Alfred’s face looked as though he’d just inhaled the entire nasty one he’d ripped in the other room. “ _You’re_ accusing _me_ of breaking consent when-”

“Yeah, I fucking am, Alfred!” And Arthur slammed his hand down on the center console enough to feel like he’d shattered three fingers. For once, the feeling drove his “no nonsense tolerated” bitch attitude that he’d too often spared Alfred from.

“You’re right, congratulations Alfred! They did treat me like shite there and I fucking _hated_ it! I should have wanted to leave, but I goddamn didn’t because it would have made me look like a fool, _you_ made me look like a fool! I never said I wanted you to literally sweep me away and you took away any fucking agency I had to make my own decisions and take those men on the way _I_ wanted to. Now you want me to _applaud_ you because you decided today you wanted to be Prince Charming instead of Mr. Jack Hammer who pummels me into the table? I don’t get to control _anything_ during shoots, Alfred. You were the one person I trusted to help me advocate for my own agency, and today you did nothing but prove you have the biggest dick in the room and sent the other boys scampering away from your big nasty fart."

Alfred opened his mouth to add something, but Arthur added abruptly, "I mean, who _does_ that? Are you fucking three years old?!”

Arthur was heaving by the end of that. He hadn’t ripped anyone a new one like that in _ages_ and, disappointingly, he was left exhausted from it. All the fucking around was aging him.

Alfred, on the other hand, wasn’t looking at him. The big, dumb boy that so often did _everything_ to please was gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles and had his mouth screwed up into a scowl. Arthur thought he’d gone and set Alfred off as well, until the idiot opened his mouth and his voice _cracked_.

“Look-” Alfred immediately cleared his throat and closed his eyes. “Look, I didn’t know that’s what I meant to you. I didn’t know you trusted me with something as big as that and I dunno...if I’m really the best person to trust with that. You’re really gonna have to rethink a choice like that, Arthur. Like you said, I’m practically a kid.”

He let loose a weak chuckle that Arthur didn’t echo, but he continued on anyway, this time looking straight at him. “I’m sorry I took you out of there without checking in with you first. I wasn’t a good advocate for you and I honestly don’t know how to be better, but I’ll listen and I’ll try?”

It definitely wasn’t the definitive statement of assurance Arthur wanted. But, to be fair, he hadn’t been expecting to lay that all out at once and didn’t think Alfred could have done any better even if that had been scripted.

“Right, okay,” was about as much as he could muster back.

He turned back towards his window and pulled his knees up to his chest. Smartly figuring that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of Arthur, Alfred started the car and pulled out of the parking lot without even a sigh. They made it ten minutes into LA traffic before the tears started welling up in Arthur’s eyes again.

He right about hit the nail on the head himself, didn’t he? Forgot grand things like fulfillment and achieving your dreams, Arthur wanted a bit of dignity. Not dignity like a job that required clothes below the waist and didn’t require seven showers a day, but the dignity to control his life. He wanted to make make his life his own, not something that was a compilation of his mother’s disapproval and every director’s fantasies and even Alfred’s fragile masculine heroics.

But he’d rather asphyxiate on semen than say that last part aloud.

“Hey, um, if you want to talk, I’m down,” Alfred said over the sniffling that Arthur had desperately hoped to Zues would be masked by the roaring AC. “But I also know you’re pretty annoyed with me, so if not you can just use my hoodie to blow you snot into. It’s, like, not even the worst thing you’ve gotten on it.”

Arthur didn’t reply, in part to keep up the look of his adamant anger, but in part because he had to bite down on his mouth to stop from smiling.

“Like that one time you got all of those disgusting baked beans you eat for breakfast on it-”

Arthur nearly pissed himself laughing at that one. Once that was through, he smacked Alfred across the shoulder lest he think Arthur was getting soft on him.

* * *

“ _Arthur…_ ”

This time, Alfred didn’t moan the wrong name.

Arthur bit back a little smirk and sat back on his hips, driving himself further down on Alfred’s cock and getting a clench on the calves for it.

“Jesus H. Christ…”

“So which one am I, Arthur or the Holy Father?” Arthur asked as he bounced just a little faster on Alfred. Unfortunately, he’d reached the speed at which Alfred’s brain began short circuiting and left him keening and drooling just a smidge from the left corner of his mouth.

_Sweet, dumb oaf_ , he thought as he wiped the drool away with his fingertips.

“Arthur…” he begged again and pushed his hips impatiently up to Arthur’s. Arthur, for once, had nothing that kept him from dragging it on for sixty agonizing minutes for the boy, so he sped up his pace and felt the moment Alfred arched into him like a taut bow and flop back down, boneless.

Before Arthur could get cross about the dumb and empty look of satisfaction on Alfred’s face, Alfred shook the sweat and hair from his eyes and flipped them around and pulled out. He slobbered all over Arthur’s face when he kissed him, and the adult film industry had _never_ been able to shake him of that habit, but also jerked him off like that was the one thing he’d been born to do.

Arthur groaned into his mouth as he came on their chests and while he would have liked to have been the civilized one to demand they wipe themselves of their mess before they cuddled, Alfred hummed and pulled him into his arms as they sat up. Arthur indulged his oaf for a moment before he looked over at Francis and the cameraman and nodded once.

That shit eating little smile of his had Arthur nearly rolling his eyes out of his head, but Francis did the polite thing and removed themselves quickly from the room. He did wink heavily in their direction and Arthur did consider fighting him, but Alfred was quickly moving onto the nuzzling phase that immediately preceded deep sleep.

“Hey.” Arthur prodded Alfred in the ribs, but barely got a grunt or a giggle. Damn, sleep had taken him fast this time. “Hey! You’ve still got to drive us home.”

“Hnn…”

Arthur might as well have lost his eyes in the monster of an eye roll he gave just then. Not that Alfred was able to appreciate it, snoring as he was with a snot bubble in his nostril already. Arthur knew a lost cause when he saw one - he’d dealt with enough stained underwear to know when something was past saving.

He adjusted himself carefully out of Alfred’s arms and watched him promptly fall into the bed face first. Arthur knew there was nothing else to be done but sit out Alfred’s nap, so he pulled the blankets over them and started scrolling through his phone.

“I’m proud of you, honey. You made a great director,” came the sleepy drawl from next to him.

Arthur looked back down at Alfred, but the man didn’t even look alive enough to string together two snores, much less two sentences. After checking his vitals briefly for a pulse, Arthur let the man be and returned to his own devices with a smile on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking through this wild ride folks!! I hope you got some enjoyment out of it, lmao. I also apologize for any wild inaccuracies when it comes to the adult film industry, all I had to go off of was "Hot Girls Wanted" )): pls feel free to correct me where I'm wrong!


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